


My Brother, the Hero

by FalconLux



Series: W.I.P. Collection [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark Harry, M/M, Manipulative Dumbledore, Minor Character Deaths, Moral Deficiency, Not Boy-Who-Lived Harry, Possible Eventual Chan 15 or 16+, Potter Twins, Sarcasm, Slight James and Lily Bashing, Slytherin Harry, Smart Voldemort, Tags May Change, The Potters Live, Work In Progress, fast paced, rating may increase, unfinished work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-10 14:00:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6987874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalconLux/pseuds/FalconLux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard when your brother's the Boy-Who-Lived. This is the story of the "other brother", and how he ended up wearing this nifty skull mask!</p><p>WARNING: This story is a Work In Progress.  It is not finished.  It may never be finished.  Read at your own risk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Potter Family

* * *

**15 June 1991**

**Potter Manor**

 

“Hey, Mum!  There’s a couple owls here!” Ethan’s voice came from the courtyard below.  “I don’t recognize…” a beat of silence and then, “THEY CAME!!  MUM!  DAD!  THEY CAME!  THEY’RE HERE!”

I sighed and noted my page before closing my book.  I knew that I wouldn’t get any more reading done now.  Not when Ethan was screaming in that tone of voice.  That tone meant that he’d not be appeased until he’d garnered the rapt attention of the entire house.  That was unfortunate.  I’d hoped to finish that book before dinner.  Hogwarts was only six weeks away now, and the reading list I’d challenged myself to finish before then was still far from complete.

“What are you screaming about, Ethan?” Mum laughed as she entered the courtyard.

“The letters!  They’re here!” he enthused.

I cast a regretful glance at my book, then made my way out of my third story bedroom and down to the ground floor.  By the time I got there, Dad had arrived and Ethan already had his letter open with each of our parents standing over his shoulders.

I brushed off the momentary flare of jealousy as they failed to notice my arrival.  This meant a lot more to Ethan than it did to me, and it was hardly their fault that I moved quietly.  I let them have their moment as I relieved the other owl of the second letter.

It was, completely unsurprisingly, my acceptance letter to Hogwarts.  Ethan had been going on about this pretty much nonstop since Christmas.  He always did that.  I kind of thought being excited and anticipatory was half the fun for him.  Personally, I didn’t see the point.  Really, they were letters.  It wasn’t as though there’d ever been any question as to us being accepted.  Ethan had defeated Voldemort as a baby for Godric’s sake.  I obviously hadn’t done anything like that, but my first accidental magic had started right after that. 

Yeah, I didn’t see why it was exciting to get these letters, but I wasn’t about to ruin Ethan’s moment.  I smiled as I watched Ethan going on and _on_ about how awesome Hogwarts would be.  Mum glanced up and caught my eye.  She gave me a warm smile and a quick wink before Ethan’s enthusiasm reclaimed her attention.

I just shook my head fondly and padded silently back inside.  I might have time to finish my book after all.

* * *

 

**17 June 1991**

**Diagon Alley**

 

“Harry!  Honey, it’s time to go!” Mum shouted up the stairs.

I smirked as I gently closed my book and slipped off the window seat where I’d been partially concealed behind the curtain for the last half hour while Mum, Dad, and Ethan had been getting ready.  “No need to shout, Mum.”

She flinched at the sound of my quiet voice and spun around with one hand clutched over her heart.  “Merlin, Harry!  I’ve told you not to do that!” she admonished.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” I lied innocently.  Really, if anyone ever paid any attention to me, it wouldn’t be so bloody easy to sneak up on them.  Not that I was bitter about it.  Or, at least, I tried not to be.  It really wasn’t anyone’s fault that Ethan’s personality tended to grab and absorb everyone’s attention.  He was just extremely high energy.  And high drama.  And short attention span.  And low patience.  And being the famous Boy-Who-Lived didn’t help anything.

Really, I wouldn’t have switched places with him for anything.  I loved being able to blend into the background.  Ethan usually got whatever he wanted because he was just that good at looking pathetic and begging shamelessly.  I usually got whatever I wanted because no one was looking when I took it.  Being invisible could be seriously fun.  Of course, every now and then, it might have been nice if either of my parents – dangerous auror and brilliant Unspeakable – were aware of the fact that I’d been in the room with them for half an hour.

Mum just gave me a look that clearly said she didn’t believe me for a moment, but didn’t have time to argue with me just then before she picked up the floo powder and ushered Dad through first.  I smirked once they’d all stopped looking at me.  I got that look pretty often.  I only remembered twice that she’d actually remembered to punish me for anything if she didn’t do it immediately.

Ethan went through the floo next, and then it was my turn.  I stumbled slightly on exiting – I really was getting better at that – and quickly stepped back into a shadowy corner far enough from Ethan that I was out of the focus that was immediately and automatically on him whenever he stepped foot outside the manor.  Mum came through the fireplace next, and Ethan did the smiles and shaking hands bit that seemed to be mandatory – another reason that I was glad he had the famous scar and not me.

What followed was a typical whirlwind trip through the busy Alley.  Ethan, as always, was instantly drawing every eye to himself, which made it even easier for me to blend into the background.  My favorite part about these family shopping trips that we usually took a few times a year?  Mum and Dad were so busy managing the crowds and watching Ethan lest someone try to assassinate him that they could never be bothered to pay much attention to what they were buying or exactly how much it was costing them.  It was beyond easy to slip a few extra items onto the counter in each store, then slide them into my pockets while the rest was shrunken down to be taken home.  A lot of my best stuff was acquired that way, including the cloak with the expanded pockets that I was wearing.

When we got to Flourish and Blotts, I ditched the family as soon as we got into the store and slipped immediately into the stacks, scanning the labels above the shelves as I mentally organized my list.  I got most of my books by owl order – that’s where I spent most of my allowance – but I could mostly only get books that I knew I wanted in that way.  Actually being at the bookstore, I was able to browse the shelves to find books that I didn’t even know about. 

Merlin, I couldn’t wait to get to Hogwarts.  Some of the stories that Mum had told me about the library there…  It kept me up at night, just thinking about it.  And I’d heard that Ravenclaw Tower had their own private library.  And quiet study rooms surrounded by other people who appreciated a good book…  Really, I was as excited as Ethan was.  I just didn’t see the point in making so much noise about it.

As expected, Ethan was soon bored and clamoring to move on.  I was pleased to find that I’d timed it just right so that I could add my books to the purchases waiting to be tallied.  Dad was playing bodyguard, standing behind Ethan with one hand on his shoulder and the other on his wand while Ethan chatted with some witch who looked just out of Hogwarts.  It looked like he’d already signed an autograph for her.  Mum was strategically positioned to control how many people were able to approach her famous son.

I smiled just a little as my extra purchases were tallied, and slipped them into my cloak pockets while Dad was sparing a bit of attention to sign the check.  Ethan was really in his element when he was surrounded by fans.  I had to admit that he made a really good Savior.

Eventually, we made it out of the bookstore.  By the time half our shopping was done, it was lunch.  We went to Monique’s to eat.  It was drastically overpriced and I’d honestly have rather had a sandwich and chips than quail kabobs, but the real benefit of eating in places like this was that the other patrons were usually refined enough to avoid mobbing us for autographs, and there was always security available to keep out…  Well, anyone without expensive robes and deep pockets, really.

After lunch, we made a slow trek back through the Alley to continue our shopping.  There really was a good reason that we only ventured out like this a couple of times a year.  By the time we got home, even Ethan would be too tired for much more than a sedate evening.

Ethan was almost literally vibrating with excitement when we finally came to Ollivander’s.  It was so bad that I think it was actually soaking into me through our twin bond.  I was having much more difficulty than usual keeping myself still and quiet.  Even so, I saw Ollivander’s eyes come to rest on me almost as often as Ethan.  It was a strange and uncomfortable phenomenon, being acknowledged by a perfect stranger when Ethan was in the same room.  I didn’t much care for it, I found.

Ethan went first, obviously.  It probably would have taken an entire team of aurors to squeeze any more patience out of my brother today.  It took quite a while to find his wand.  At one point, the old man seemed to get excited about one wand, but it didn’t respond to him at all.  Eventually, Ethan was paired with a holly and unicorn hair, 12 ½ inches, which was evidently slightly swishy and good for defense.  It emitted a shower of yellow and light green sparks when Ethan touched it.

I closed my book and slipped it into my pocket while I stood from the corner in which I’d settled a good half hour ago.  I smiled and congratulated my elated brother before stepping forward and praying that it didn’t take as long to find my own wand.

“Well, let’s just see…” the old man muttered after I failed to get a response from the first two wands.  “Holly and phoenix feather,” he said as he presented me with the wand and I was pretty sure it was the same that he’s expected to respond to Ethan.

The instant that it touched my hand, it took my breath away.  Dark purple and orange sparks cascaded from the tip of the wand while heat ignited in my chest and coursed through my body in a way that I had never felt before.  I found myself grinning, which was an expression that I very rarely ever adopted.

“Curious.  Very curious,” Ollivander’s muttering cut through my elation.

“What’s curious, sir?” Ethan questioned even as he clapped me on the back in congratulation.

Ollivander stared at me for a long moment, his expression troubled.  “I remember every wand I’ve ever sold,” he said at last.  “Every single wand.  It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in that wand gave another feather.  Just one other.  It is very curious indeed, Mr. Potter, that your brother should be destined for that wand when _its_ brother…  Why its brother gave you that scar.”

I looked at the wand in my hand.  I was sure that everyone else was doing the same, though I couldn’t spare enough attention to check.  I swallowed.  There had to be a mistake.  That’s all I could think.  This couldn’t be right.

“N-no,” I heard Ethan object, the horror that he was feeling even stronger than what burned in my own heart.  I felt like… a traitor somehow, even though I knew that this couldn’t be my fault.  I hadn’t done anything to warrant this.  I _hadn’t_.  “That can’t be right,” Ethan protested for me while I continued to stare mutely at the wand that felt so right in my hand.  It seemed like it was mocking me by continuing to hum pleasantly against my fingers.

“I’m afraid it is, Mr. Potter,” the old bastard said gravely.

“Mr. Ollivander,” Dad finally stepped forward and I prayed that he was going to fix this.  “Ethan tried dozens of wands.  Harry only tried three.  Surely you can let him try some more.  I don’t doubt that he can find a better fit,” he said tightly but with confidence.

“Lord Potter,” Ollivander frowned.  “I’m afraid the wand chooses the wizard and this wand has chosen.”

“Well, we don’t accept that!” Dad snapped, and I could hear that he was getting really angry now.  “My son is a good boy, and he deserves better!  I won’t have any connection to Voldemort in my house, much less my son’s possession!”  And with that, he snatched the wand out of my hand and thrust it at the old wandmaker.

An involuntary sound of distress was ripped from my throat as the wonderful feeling I’d only just discovered was torn away from me.

I bit it off as quickly as I could and stared very hard at the floor as I willed traitorous tears to remain at bay.  At least until I was locked away in my secret room at home.

“Come on, Ethan.  Harry.  We’re going home.”

I didn’t dare speak a word until we were all back in the manor.  “Does this mean that I can’t go to Hogwarts?” I finally voiced.  I was sure I’d never heard my own voice sound so small and frail.

“You have to go!” Ethan crowed immediately, turning on Mum and Dad with his most stubborn glare.  “Harry has to go to Hogwarts!  He’s my brother!  He has to go!  You can’t make him stay just because…!  Well, you can’t!” he insisted.

“Oh, no, Honey,” Mum sighed.  “Don’t worry, Harry _is_ going to Hogwarts.  I promise.  Your father’s going to talk to Professor Dumbledore about this… wand issue.  I’m sure he’ll know what to do.  If nothing else, Harry, we’ll go to Gregorovitch for your wand.  Don’t worry.”

I swallowed around the sob that was trying to get out, willed my eyes to hold onto the tears that were leaking into them, and managed to get out, “I’m tired.”  I wanted to walk calmly out of the room, but I was sure I wouldn’t last that long.  I ended up running all the way up to my room.  I avoided the bed.  I knew Ethan would find me there, and I couldn’t let him see me cry.  Instead, I ran into my closet, all the way to the back, and slipped through the small house-elf door, which was really little more than a crawl space.  I’d wondered, when I was younger, why creatures that could apparate needed such passages, so I’d done some research and found that, apparently, back in pre-Hogwarts times, family manors had had wards so strong that even family house-elves couldn’t apparate inside them.

I didn’t much care about that anymore.  For me, it just meant that the old manor was riddled with a maze of hidden passages that everyone had forgotten even existed.

I made my way up to one of the tiny attic rooms that I’d long ago claimed as my own.  I liked it here.  I liked my collection of possessions that my parents wouldn’t approve of.  I even liked the constant presence of the dust, because that meant that even the house-elves didn’t come in here.  It was mine and mine alone.  I came here to read a lot, when I really just didn’t want to deal with anyone.  Today, I just curled my arms around my knees and let myself cry. 

I’d only held that stupid wand for like a minute.  It shouldn’t have been a big deal to lose it when I’d never really had it to begin with.  But it _hurt_.  Like there was a hole in my chest, and no matter how much I breathed, I just couldn’t get it to fill up again.  I’d never in my life felt really _whole_ like I had when I’d first touched that wand.  And now it was gone and I didn’t think I’d ever be whole again.

Even worse, I was seriously wondering if there wasn’t something wrong with me that I’d be chosen by the brother wand of Voldemort’s wand.  And I knew that I _shouldn’t_ miss that wand, because it was an evil wand.  Voldemort had tried to kill us.  I didn’t want to be like him.  I didn’t want to hurt innocent people!

I wanted my wand back, and I hated it for being a brother to Voldemort’s wand.  I hated myself for wanting what I knew that I shouldn’t.  I felt like I’d betrayed Ethan and my parents.  I felt like continuing to want that wand was a continued betrayal.

But I couldn’t make myself stop.


	2. An Obstinate Hat

**1 September 1991**

**Sorting**

* * *

 

I struggled to tune out Ethan and Ron’s loud game of exploding snap and concentrate on my book.  The gentle rocking of the train car was distracting enough without their loud voices and the occasional explosion.  I could have looked for another compartment, but it hadn’t seemed worth the effort.  As long as I remained near Ethan, he easily stole all the attention away from me, allowing me to remain relatively inconspicuous even on the train.  As soon as I was away from him, however, I had to deal with people trying to figure out if I _was_ him.  After the third time I’d had to bare my forehead to prove that I _wasn’t_ the famous Boy-Who-Lived, I’d decided that staying near Ethan was the best thing I could do until we had different color ties to differentiate us.

I didn’t doubt for a moment that he’d be a Gryffindor.  He really did fit the criteria perfectly.  I believed with the same conviction that I would be a Ravenclaw.  I loved Ethan, but I was really looking forward to getting a little distance from him.  And being in different houses, maybe I could even make a friend or two of my own.  Someone interested in books and learning.

I cringed slightly as an explosion was accompanied by excited yells from both of those sharing the compartment with me.

_A quiet friend_ , I mentally amended.

I realized then that my hand was in my pocket, gripping my wand again and I hastily let it go.  I’d just gotten it back today.  When Dad had talked to Dumbledore about it, the headmaster had apparently told him that there was nothing evil about the wand or me.  He said that that particular wand choosing me could mean any number of things, and that it would be best if I claimed the wand that had chosen me.

Mum and Dad had argued about it when they had thought I was in my room.  Dad wanted to trust Dumbledore.  Mum thought it would be better to get a different wand from Gregorovitch, just to be safe.  In the end, Dad had won on the grounds that Dumbledore had never steered them wrong before.  Personally, I found it odd that neither of my parents seemed to consider Dumbledore even a little bit at fault for Ethan and me almost getting killed by Voldemort in ’81.  Sure, they’d chosen the wrong Secret-Keeper, but the Fidelius and hiding out in Godric’s Hollow had been Dumbledore’s idea.  When Voldemort had targeted us, Mum had wanted to leave the country and Dad had wanted to trust the ancient wards around the manor.  I’d overheard that argument a few years ago, though I still didn’t know what had instigated it.

Dad had gone back to Ollivander’s to get my wand, but they hadn’t actually given it back to me until today.  I’d asked about it only once.  I mean, if there really was nothing wrong with it, then why didn’t I get to have it like Ethan got to have his wand already – with strict orders not to use it, of course.  Dad had just said something about Mum’s orders, and I hadn’t dared bring it up to her after the argument I’d heard, so I’d waited impatiently until today – at last.  I still wasn’t sure if it was wrong of me to be so attached to this wand that Mum didn’t seem to trust and Dad was apparently trusting only grudgingly, but I couldn’t help it.  I was getting a little sick of constantly questioning myself, so I was pretty much just deciding to believe the best and go with it for now.

The compartment door opened and Neville stepped inside, eyeing Ron and Ethan warily.  He’d been with us in the beginning, but he’d left a while ago to search for his familiar.  He and Ethan had never been the greatest of friends since Neville was just too quiet to really mesh well with Ethan, but since our parents were friends, we’d pretty much known him all our lives.  He and I hadn’t ever been that close either.  Though we did pretty well together since we were both quiet, Neville wasn’t much interested in studying as a hobby, so we’d never had that much to talk about.

Ron was another life-time friend, though he and Ethan had always gotten along very well.  Personally, I couldn’t stand him.  Half the time, he seemed ready to worship my brother, and the other half, he was jealous of him.  Mostly, Ron seemed to take out his frustrations on me.  Or, rather he tried to.  We were seven the last time he’d managed to prank me, and I maintain that that was a fluke, as I was ill that day.

“Find Trevor?” Ethan asked absently after sparing just a glance up from his game.

“Um, yeah,” Neville said quietly, lifting the toad as evidence.  “Hermione helped me,” he glanced over his shoulder and I followed his gaze to…

My eyes widened slightly as I took in the bushy-haired, buck-toothed girl all but bouncing on her toes.  “Hermione?” I asked politely, since I knew that Ethan had already stopped paying attention to both of the new arrivals.

“Oh, Hermione Granger,” Neville smiled as he turned to introduce her, stepping aside so that she could come inside.

Her eyes widened when she saw me, “Oh, wow!  Are you Ethan Potter?!  I’ve read all about you, of course.  You’re in…”

“He’s Ethan,” I sighed, pointing to the messy black head on the bench across from me.  Then I turned my attention back to my book and did my best to tune out the annoying muggleborn.  Once Ethan realized that she was a fan, he became much more interested in her existence.

Neville sat down next to me while Hermione sat on his other side to chat with Ethan.  Neville didn’t try to talk to me, which was one of my favorite things about him.  I was glad that he was providing me with a buffer from the overly inquisitive, hyperactive girl.

Even Ethan was getting annoyed with her within five minutes, I noticed with some amusement.  Ethan generally had a preternatural patience whenever it came to his fans, so watching it thin was quite the treat.

Thankfully, it wasn’t long before the announcement came that we were soon to arrive at Hogsmeade and Granger left to get changed.  Ron had to change into his robes, but the rest of us were already dressed in ours since we’d come to the station by Floo.  The Weasleys, I knew, had a hard time affording enough Floo Powder for family trips that way and often found other ways to get around.  I felt a bit bad for them, but not too much.  If they weren’t so proud, they’d be doing much better.  I knew, after all, that Mum and Dad had offered to help them out before and they’d declined as though they didn’t need it when they clearly did.

Ethan and I had been forbidden to broach the subject with them ever since Ethan had offered the buy the entire family new brooms so that we could play a “decent game of Quidditch”.  I didn’t really get it, but then I’d never been poor, so maybe I was missing something.

I sat next to Neville, across from Ethan and Ron on the boat over to the school.  Ethan and I had been here plenty of times before, of course.  Mum and Dad didn’t trust St. Mungo’s much with Ethan, and I was easily mistaken for him, so we usually came to Hogwarts to see Poppy for health checkups or if we got hurt.  Over the summer, we visited sometimes, and sometimes McGonagall or Poppy would watch us for a little while.  I’d never had a chance to get into the library though.  And we usually apparated to the gate or floo’d into the headmaster’s office, so we didn’t get much of a view of the castle, especially at night over the lake.  It _was_ pretty impressive.

Eventually, we arrived at the castle, and Professor McGonagall ushered us through into the anteroom by the side entrance of the Great Hall.  The muggleborns just about scared the life out of me when they started screaming.  I blinked at the ghosts and then shook my head at the excitable muggleborns.  Honestly, they were just ghosts.  We had a few at the manor, though they mostly kept to themselves.

“Haven’t you ever seen a ghost before?” I asked Granger, who was still gaping at them.

“Of course not!” was her indignant response.

I shook my head slowly.  “You never even saw _one_?”

“No,” she said, and now she was looking insulted and haughty.  “Muggles don’t leave ghosts behind when they die, so of course I haven’t seen any, having grown up in a muggle area…”

“Yes, thank you, Miss Know-It-All,” I snapped at her.  “I am perfectly aware that muggles don’t leave ghosts.”

McGonagall returned before our argument could escalate – probably a good thing – and I clamped my mouth shut, unwilling to get my first detention before I was even sorted.  I didn’t doubt that Professor McGonagall would give me one either.

Granger was glaring at me as we entered the Great Hall, but she quickly seemed to forget our fight as her attention was drawn to the ceiling.  I rolled my eyes, but resisted the urge to say anything snide when she started quoting _Hogwarts: A History_ about the enchantment on the ceiling.  Honestly, every single wizard-raised student knew about that enchantment.  We didn’t need to listen to her jabbering on about it as though she was educating us.

I had nothing against muggleborns – truly, I didn’t – but I honestly would have thought they’d at least be smart enough to realize that reading a few books didn’t mean that they knew more about our world than the people who grew up in it.

Well, excluding Ron, who seemed to put a real effort into never learning anything, even by accident, unless it involved Quidditch or chess.

I couldn’t help but find Granger’s unearned arrogance particularly insulting.

Thankfully, the Sorting Hat started singing then, distracting me from glaring at Granger, who seemed too awed by everything in the room to have realized it yet.

I breathed a sigh of relief and smirked triumphantly at Ron when Granger was sent to his future house instead of mine.  I really don’t want to know what would have happened had Granger and I ended up in the same house.  I was usually more polite than Ethan, but I wasn’t nearly as nice.

Neville went into Gryffindor, and I silently wished him all the best as he took off the Hat and headed for his new table with pride.  He was a bit timid for that house, I thought.  Lions could sense weakness, after all, and they tended to prey on the weak – at least, that was my impression from what I knew of my Gryffindor parents and their friends.  He’d have probably been a lot happier in Hufflepuff, but maybe he’d surprise me.  I figured Gryffindor would either crush him or toughen him up.  Well, it wasn’t really my concern.

“Potter, Ethan!” McGonagall finally called and I felt Ethan’s excitement spike as he strode confidently toward the stool, casting a warm smile out toward all of the whispering students staring eagerly at him.  He gave them a small wave and slipped the Hat onto his head.

I heard a quiet snort from the head table and glanced up to see Severus Snape trying to burn a hole in the back of Ethan’s head with his eyes alone.  I’d never officially met Mum’s old school friend, though I knew that he was head of Slytherin house now, and a very well-renowned potions master.  Mum had mostly cut ties with him, but she still wrote to him every now and then, and Dad and Sirius and Remus didn’t dare to tell any of their stories about him when she was around.  I thought that Snape was an excellent example of the bloodthirsty side of the lions.  Some of the things Dad and the others had apparently done to him in school were disturbing to my mind.  Ethan seemed to get a kick out of hearing about how they’d tormented the “evil Slytherin”.  I found it unlikely that Dumbledore would have employed the man if he was “evil”.

I wondered how much of a problem Snape was going to be for me, being James Potter’s son.  Doubtless, the man still hated my father, and by the way he was looking at Ethan, I suspected that he was more than ready to include us in the feud.

“GRYFFINDOR!”  The Hat had taken about ten or fifteen seconds to announce Ethan’s house.  He gave me a grin and a wink as he slipped off the Hat, then pumped both of his fists in the air like he’d just won a dueling match as he jogged down to meet the cheers and rising chorus of “Potter, Potter!” that was coming from the house of lions.

I just shook my head amusedly and thanked Merlin again that I wasn’t going to that particular house. 

“Potter, Harry!” McGonagall shouted when the noise had begun to diminish.

The whispers rose again.  Annoyingly, they now seemed to revolve mostly around exclamations of shock at the fact that there was “another Potter”.

With a resigned sigh, I stepped out into the spotlight that I so strived to avoid and seated myself on the stool, doing my best to ignore the fact that several hundred people were staring intently at me.  It was a relief when the Hat had settled over my eyes, blocking them out.

“ _Ah, Harry Potter_ ,” I heard a small voice say in my mind and I did my best to avoid outwardly flinching.  “ _My, my, you could not possibly be much further removed from the personality of your twin_.”

“ _Are you supposed to be stating the obvious?_ ” I queried, slightly snarky.  Despite being the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived, I _really_ wasn’t used to being stared at.  Actually, probably _because_ my brother was the Boy-Who-Lived.  With him there, no one even noticed me, much less stared.  Being on display was having a very negative effect on my usually polite personality.

The Hat merely chuckled at me, however.  “ _Quite right.  Let us get right to it then.  I see that you are planning to be an Eagle.  Hm…_ ”

“‘ _Hm’?  What is ‘hm’ supposed to mean?”_ I snapped, an itch of unease unfurling down my spine.  This wasn’t going as I’d expected.  There shouldn’t be any debate.  I should have been sorted already.

“ _Well, you certainly have an impressive mind, Mr. Potter.  Goodness, yes.  I see that you take great enjoyment in learning_.”

“ _Yes, which is why I am an obvious Ravenclaw_ ,” I replied tensely.  “ _Surely you’re not attempting to suggest that I belong in Hufflepuff.  I am quite loyal to my family, but I have no great need for gathering friends.  And I generally prefer to avoid hard work when possible_.”

“ _Unless the work gives you something that you desire_.”

“ _But even then, I don’t do more than absolutely necessary.  Honestly, I tend toward the lazy side_ ,” I refuted.  Learning was the only thing about which I was almost never lazy – mostly because I enjoyed it, so it didn’t feel like a chore.  It had been _years_ since I’d questioned the fact that I belonged in Ravenclaw.  For so long, it had been a fact in my mind that I would be an Eagle at Hogwarts.  I couldn’t understand why the stupid Hat was arguing with me.

“ _True, Mr. Potter.  I don’t believe you’d fit into Hufflepuff, at all_.”

“ _Well, surely you’re not suggesting Gryffindor_ ,” I said uneasily after a momentary pause.  “ _I really don’t think I have anything in common with the lions._ ”

“ _I actually see an impressive potential for courage here_.”

“ _Be that as it may, surely you acknowledge the fact that courage and nobility are not the only prominent traits of the lions.  I would be miserable there_.”

“ _Agreed_.”

I paused a moment, but the Hat said nothing more.  “ _So, put me in Ravenclaw, already_ ,” I protested.

“ _Ah, but you seem to have forgotten an entire house, Mr. Potter_.”

I felt all the blood drain from my face and I swayed slightly on the stool.  “ _Please tell me that this is some kind of sadistic jest,_ ” I literally begged.  The Hat had been made by Godric Gryffindor, after all.  I wouldn’t be at all surprised if it enjoyed pranking.

“ _No jest, Mr. Potter_ ,” it said seriously.  “ _You would be reasonably happy in Ravenclaw, I will admit, but I believe you would stagnate there.  Learning is easy for you.  It comes naturally.  You thrive on challenge, and that is something with which you have had little enough experience in your life thus far.  Slytherin will challenge you…”_

“ _Slytherin would destroy me!_ ” I said desperately.  “ _My brother is the Boy-Who-Lived, I_ can’t _be a Slytherin!  Do you realize what everyone would think of me?  I would be…  I’d_ never _be trusted again!_ ”

There was a pause before the Hat spoke again, its voice in my mind almost apologetic.  “ _I was created to put students into the house in which they would most thrive.  I can make only one choice for you.”_ And then, before I could try to argue further, it shouted for the entire hall to hear.

“SLYTHERIN!”

I swallowed hard and forced my face to blank as I slowly removed the Hat from my head.  The hall was silent as I rose from the stool.  Everyone was still staring at me.  As I’d expected, they were all looking at me as though the Hat had just announced that I was to enter Dark Lord Training rather than merely sorting me into the house from which the Dark Lord had come.

There was a chance that Dad would be able to convince Dumbledore to re-sort me.  Even if he did though, I didn’t think that anyone would ever forget that I had been put in Slytherin first.  Of course, if he _didn’t_ get me re-sorted, then I was going to have to live with the Slytherins for the next seven years.  It would be very bad if I said or did anything to make them think that I was as horrified at being sorted among them as I actually was.  I didn’t _really_ think that Slytherins were evil, like I half-suspected that Dad and Uncle Sirius actually did.  Mum didn’t think there was anything wrong with Slytherins on principle.  She’d been friends with Snape, and she had a few friends among the Unspeakables now who’d been in Slytherin house.

No, I didn’t think they were evil.  Certainly, this wasn’t as bad as my wand…

Oh, Merlin.  My wand.  My wand was brother to Voldemort’s wand and now I’d been sorted into the same house as Voldemort.  I couldn’t even begin to figure out what to think about that, but I had an idea of what other people were going to think of it.

I numbly handed the hat back to McGonagall as my eyes rose and locked with the emerald green eyes at the end of the Gryffindor table.  They were wide and… betrayed.  That’s what I was feeling through our twin bond, and I was pretty sure that it was half the reason that I presently felt like I might be sick.

I forced myself to look away from Ethan and walk toward the Slytherin table. 

Slytherin.  I was a Slytherin.  Oh, Gods…

* * *

 

**2 September 1991**

**Snake Den**

* * *

 

My housemates were extremely wary of me at first.  They looked at me like I didn’t belong.  Like I was an outsider, a spy invading their sanctum sanctorum.  I honestly wasn’t sure if they were right or not, so I didn’t hold it against them.

As expected, Mum and Dad met with Dumbledore the first day of term.  I got to join them with Ethan in the headmaster’s office after dinner.  Ethan seemed to be as confused as I was, but he was handling it in his typically loud fashion, which translated to a lot of hurt and anger aimed at me and everyone else.  Mum was split between comforting me and consoling Ethan, who was throwing an almighty fit.  Dad seemed to be having trouble meeting my eyes.  He was throwing plenty of anger at Dumbledore and the world in general, but I could see that his faith in me had been severely shaken.  I didn’t really blame him.  My faith in myself had been shaken as well.  First with the wand, and then this…

I knew that I wasn’t evil.  Sure, I had some impolite thoughts now and then, but I was pretty sure that everyone did.  I’d almost never acted on thoughts like that, so I didn’t think there was anything wrong with that.  And yes, sometimes I got angry and wanted to hurt someone, but I didn’t _do_ it.  Well, I _usually_ didn’t do it.  I never hurt anyone seriously and I hadn’t been caught at it since I was four.  Some people deserved it.  Like Ron.  Surely that didn’t make me _evil,_ did it?  But, then I really didn’t know what evil people were like when they were children.  Maybe Voldemort had been just like me once.

In the end, Dumbledore assured them that there was nothing “wrong” with me being in Slytherin house, and that I might actually be able to do a lot of good there by helping children whose parents may not want what was best for them.  Dad couldn’t seem to get passed the fact that I had the traits of a Slytherin.  Mum was standing up for the idea that there wasn’t anything wrong with Slytherins in general, but I could see by the way her eyes tightened when she looked at me and the trembling in the hand rubbing my back that she had her doubts.

Ethan…  He seemed utterly lost, unable to decide between supporting his brother and condemning the evil Slytherin, and the mixed messages coming from Mum and Dad probably weren’t helping him any.

Through the whole meeting, Snape – my head of house – stood in the corner, being invisible simply by being still and silent, just like I usually did.  His loathing for my dad was palpable every time his black eyes fell on him.  When his eyes were turned on me, they were very neutral.  Deliberately neutral.  But I figured that was as much as I could hope for, given the circumstances.  At least he wasn’t glaring at me as well.

My eyes returned to my head of house often throughout the meeting.  In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who remembered that he was even there most of the time.  Snape wasn’t evil, I reassured myself.  He was as Slytherin as they come to be the head of the house and he wasn’t a bad person, so that was proof that being sorted there didn’t make me evil.  Of course, that was going by Mum and Dumbledore’s opinion of the man, and not Dad’s.

Sometimes, I realized, it really did matter a lot more what people thought than what was really true.

When the meeting concluded, it had been decided that I would remain in Slytherin and come directly to Dumbledore or Snape if anyone gave me any trouble.  I dutifully lied that I would do that, received a hug from Mum, an awkward pat on the shoulder from Dad, and a frown from Ethan, then accompanied Professor Snape down toward the dungeons.

Before going into the common room, Snape stopped me and stared at me gravely for a long moment.  “Potter, I meant what I said this morning,” he said firmly, referring to his little “welcome to Slytherin” speech he’d given before breakfast when he’d handed out everyone’s time tables.  “Slytherins don’t always get along, but we don’t parade our problems before the school either.  If you have any difficulties, I trust that you will bring them to me first,” he said forcefully.

“Of course, sir,” I nodded.

His eyes narrowed.  “You’ll want to improve your occlumency drastically before you attempt to lie to me again, Potter,” he snapped harshly.

I tensed under his fiery stare and gave him a much more genuine nod.  “I’ll remember that, sir,” I said quietly.  “And I will come to you with any in-house problems before I go to any other adult for help,” I qualified.  I didn’t really _do_ going to adults for help.  I was used to handling things myself because Mum and Dad didn’t usually have the time.

He continued to glare at me, but with slightly less anger now.  Finally, he just turned and stormed away.

I took a silent, steadying breath once he was gone and made sure my hands weren’t trembling before speaking the password and letting myself into the common room.  I got a lot of looks as I moved through the room, but I was far too exhausted to deal with any of them tonight.  I made directly for the first year dorm.  My bed – by luck or clairvoyance – was in the darkest corner of the room.  Each of the six spacious, canopied beds were flanked by a luxurious wardrobe and an elegant marble-top desk with our personal trunks settled at the foot of the bed. 

I toed off my shoes and quickly closed myself behind the curtains of my bed.  I sprawled across the soft surface and stared blankly at the green cloth above me.  Green.  It should have been blue.  I should have been in Ravenclaw Tower, not beneath the lake.

I sighed and firmly told myself that I would not cry.  I wasn’t even close to private enough to think about letting myself cry.  Babies cried.  Girls cried.  Not big boys.  Not men.  Dad had beat that into mine and Ethan’s heads for as long as I could remember.  I’d mastered it first.  Not that anyone had noticed.

_No_ , I told myself firmly.  I wasn’t going to do that.  It wasn’t Ethan’s fault.  It wasn’t Mum and Dad’s fault.  Things just happened.  If I was going to start blaming people, there was more than enough blame to go around.  Mum and Dad and Ethan and Sirius and Remus and Peter and Dumbledore and Voldemort and even myself could all be blamed for pretty much everything that bothered me about my life, and there just wasn’t any point to getting into that.

I was a Slytherin now, officially.  I was just going to have to deal with it and adapt to it just as I had everything else in my life.  I didn’t know about the Sorting Hat’s assertion that I thrived on challenge, but I was sure that I could deal with it.


	3. The Potions Master

**6 September 1991**

**Potions**

* * *

 

I barely spoke a word to any of my housemates – even my dorm mates – all that first week.  They stared at me a lot when they thought I wasn’t looking.  I promised myself that they’d get used to me soon enough and things would calm down.  I was pretty sure I wasn’t lying to myself.

I managed to avoid a lot of the scrutiny by just avoiding the snake den.  The library was everything I’d ever dreamed it could be, and I found it quite easy to lose myself amongst the stacks for hours on end.  I didn’t miss any classes due to the omnipresent lure of that wondrous room, but I did miss curfew twice in the first five days.  Luckily, my talent for being invisible worked nearly as well in dark, silent corridors as it did in a crowd, and I managed to avoid getting caught out after hours either time.

I was nervous Friday morning though.  My first Potions class was that morning, and not only was it taught by my head of house – who may or may not strongly dislike me – but it was also my only class that Ethan would be in.

I was so nervous about the class that I ended up getting there more than ten minutes early.  I eyed the empty seats and debated briefly before choosing a seat at the station just in front of Snape’s desk.  It was closest to the ingredients cupboard and would hopefully be furthest from the idiots who wanted to mess about instead of paying attention.

While I waited for everyone else to show up, I reverted to more comfortable ground and pulled out my class book to study.  I’d read and learned all of this long before classes even started, but it wouldn’t hurt to peruse the most relevant material once more immediately before I’d need to use it.  My memory was _not_ eidetic, despite what Ethan liked to accuse me of.  It was good – very good when I applied myself to remembering something – but I _did_ forget things if I didn’t use the knowledge or revise occasionally, and I had been known to miss things every now and then.  I actually suspected that Ethan’s memory was as good as mine when he chose to apply it.  He _did_ have the ability to quote a large selection of Quidditch stats on command.

Having already been through the material previously, it didn’t take me long to get through it again, paying careful attention to the technical details and skimming over the editorial portions.  I didn’t even realize that the room had begun to fill with my classmates until there was a cool, “Excuse me,” from next to me.

I looked up from my book slowly and my eyes settled on slightly narrowed mercurial orbs.  I was decently familiar with the Malfoy heir.  He’d faced off against Ethan in the Alley a few times, but I wasn’t sure that he’d ever so much as noticed that I was there on those occasions.  I just lifted my brow and waited politely for him to say what he wanted to say.

He frowned at me with an expression that was one part suspicion and one part confusion, then glanced at the stool next to me and visibly withheld a sigh.  “Is that seat taken?” he asked with such haughty self-possession that I couldn’t help but smirk.

“Not at all.  Have a seat, Malfoy.”

He eyed me suspiciously, as though it might be a trick despite it having been his idea, then swept gracefully into the seat, managing to keep his nose elevated the entire time.  I resisted the urge to snicker at him as I took a moment to examine the occupancy of the room.

Ethan was sitting in the far rear corner directly opposite me and as far from the professor’s desk as possible.  Given the way Snape seemed to regard my brother, I thought that was a wise choice.  Ron was stuck to his hip like always, the other two Gryffindor boys – muggleborns maybe, because I didn’t recognize their surnames – were stuck gleefully to his other side.  Neville was sitting in front of them, next to that annoying know-it-all muggleborn, Granger.  I had no idea how he was able to stand her.  The Gryffindor Patil was seated next to Granger, deep in some conversation with the Brown girl.  I couldn’t remember her given name, but I had seen her once or twice in the Alley.  Her family wasn’t of much note, but they did own a shop on the Alley.  I’d been lucky enough to only be into it once with Mum, but that was enough to know that it wasn’t a place for anyone of the male gender.

The pair sitting on the other side of the stool Malfoy had just claimed were Crabbe and Goyle.  The table behind us was filled out by Theodore Nott, Millicent Bulstrode, Tracey Davis, and Pansy Parkinson, and behind them were Blaise Zabini, Daphne Greengrass, and Lilian Moon with the last seat empty.  Most of my Slytherin yearmates, I knew by reputation only, and the little bit I’d observed of them over the last week.  Nott, Bulstrode, and Parkinson were all from traditionally “dark” families.  According to Dad, all three had members that had been Death Eaters or suspected Death Eaters, as did Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, of course.  Davis was the only other halfblood, but her surname had been among the suspected Death Eaters as well, and there had also been some suspicion about her muggleborn mother’s death that Dad thought was suspicious but couldn’t be proven.  Considering how warmly she seemed to be received by the dark purebloods, they didn’t seem to hold her blood status against her.  And finally, there were Zabini, Greengrass, and Moon, all three historically neutral families.

I was, obviously, the only Slytherin in my year from a historically “light” family.  The other Slytherins seemed terribly conflicted between judging me for my family, and acknowledging that I was a Slytherin and therefore different from my family.  Honestly, I wasn’t quite sure what I was supposed to be now either.  I’d mostly decided that I was going to try hard to just act like myself and see how that worked out.

My thoughts were abruptly shattered by the loud bang of the door as Snape made his entrance.  All eyes were on him as he came to a stop at the front of the room and let his dark gaze sweep over each of us.  I noticed that his eyes lingered on Ethan and on me though I couldn’t define the direction of his thoughts from his blank face.

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making,” he began directly, his deep voice quiet and compelling, and I knew that I wasn’t the only person in the room hanging on his every word.  “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic.  I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses…  I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death.”  He paused, gazing around at the complete attention he held, then added in a wry drawl, “If you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”

Malfoy smirked smugly, clearly convinced that he wasn’t included in that group of dunderheads.  He looked smug enough, in fact, that he might have been considering himself on a level with the professor already.

I made an effort to avoid rolling my eyes.  I wondered how Malfoy would react if I were to explain to him just how much like Ethan he was.  He’d probably faint from severe indignation.

“Potter!”

I flinched slightly as my eyes snapped back up to the professor, only to relax when I saw that his glare was focused on Ethan.

“What would I be brewing if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?” Snape barked at Ethan, his confrontational tone now a startling contrast to that which had accompanied his speech.

I looked back toward my brother and almost rolled my eyes when I saw his face pinking, a combination of embarrassment and indignant anger burning in his emerald eyes.  Honestly, I was a little bit embarrassed for my brother.  The Draught of Living Death was mentioned in the introduction of our potions text.

Granger’s hand shot into the air and she was almost dancing in her seat with her enthusiasm to answer the question.  I couldn’t resist the urge to roll my eyes this time.  I swear, that girl was like a walking advertisement for pureblood superiority, and I did not generally consider myself prejudiced or intolerant. 

“Tut, tut,” Snape sneered at Ethan, ignoring Granger completely, which I found amusing, “fame clearly isn’t everything.”  Then his eyes swung around to me.  “Perhaps the other Potter?”

My brow rose in surprise, but I hesitated only a fraction of a second before answering.  I wasn’t ecstatic about being used to make Ethan look stupid but I wasn’t about to make myself and my house look bad while angering my head of house just to avoid illustrating the fact that Ethan really couldn’t be bothered to read his course books.  “The Draught of Living Death, sir,” I said as neutrally as possible.

“Ah, it seems that one of them can read,” Snape said with an almost convincing display of surprise as he turned disdainful eyes on Ethan again.  “Let’s try again.  Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”

Granger seemed to be trying to loosen her joints in order to get her hand higher into the air without actually lifting her bum off her chair.

The majority of the Slytherins in the room were now shaking with poorly suppressed hilarity.  I was doing everything in my power to avoid letting the amusement soak into me as well.  It really wasn’t nice what Snape was doing to Ethan, but it _was_ funny.  And it was the first time in my life that anyone had ever pointed out some way in which I was better than Ethan – and with witnesses, no less!

“I don’t know, _sir_ ,” Ethan practically growled, his face now terribly red between his embarrassment and anger.  He’d never been treated like this before.  I did feel a little bit bad for him, but I also kind of thought it might be good for him to have someone point out that he wasn’t perfect and that being famous by itself wasn’t enough to get by in the world forever.

Snape pursed his lips with a drawn out, “Hmmmm.”  Then he turned to look at me and lifted his brow, clearly inviting me to answer.

This had also been in the introduction.  “The stomach of a goat, sir.”

“And it’s purpose?” he almost purred.

“It can counteract most poisons, Professor,” I answered as neutrally as possible while I was surrounded by gleeful snickers and trying to ignore Ethan’s betrayed glare, “It’s also an ingredient in most antidotes.”

Snape’s smirk looked slightly smug for a moment before it turned diabolical again as he returned his attention to Ethan.  “Why don’t we try once more?  What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

And now Granger was no longer able to keep her bum attached to her seat and was actually standing and waving her hand in the air.  As though these questions were even _difficult_.

“I don’t know,” Ethan said defiantly.  “I think Hermione does though.  Why don’t you try her?”

A few Gryffindors gave surprised laughs at that – none very loudly – and some of the Slytherins glared.

I sneered at Hermione before I could stop myself.  Really, that girl just annoyed the crap out of me.

Snape’s face went stony as he glared at Ethan for a moment before turning his glare on Granger.  He spoke only one word to her, “Sit,” and she went down faster than a well-trained hound.

I lifted a hand quickly to cover my smile because that was just too funny.  Malfoy clearly wasn’t deceived as he sent a conspiratorial smile in my direction.  When I lifted my eyes to Snape again, he looked vaguely amused, and he was also clearly waiting for me to answer the question Ethan hadn’t.  “There is no difference, sir,” I almost sighed, “Monkshood and Wolfsbane are the same plant, also called aconite.”

“Very good,” Snape congratulated.  “Twenty points to Slytherin, Potter.”  He then turned toward Ethan.  “And you…  Twenty points from Gryffindor for your cheek and general incompetence, Potter.”  Then he looked at Granger and lifted an eyebrow.  “Miss Granger, as you were so eager to answer a question, this one is just for you.”

She sat up very straight and practically vibrated in her eagerness to prove herself. 

“What flowering plant, used in the Befuddlement and Confounding potions is also a common additive of most simple healing salves?”

Granger opened her mouth immediately, then frowned, blushed, and closed it again.  “I…  I don’t know, sir.”

I was grinning before I could stop myself and I was now officially a fan of Severus Snape.  The question was utterly simple to anyone who had been raised in the wizarding world.  It was so commonly used, mum had a crop growing in her herb garden every year – as did Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Longbottom and even Mr. Lovegood.  Snape had chosen the question specifically to point out something the girl was unlikely to have come across in her preparatory reading.

“No?” Snape asked innocently.  “Miss Davis?”

“Sneezewort, sir,” Tracey Davis answered sweetly.

“Very good, Miss Davis.  Five points to Slytherin,” Snape said indulgently, even while his body language dismissed Granger’s very existence.  “Now, today you will be brewing a simple boil cure.”

After that, the lesson got underway without much to-do.  Malfoy and I were actually able to work decently together.  We were both familiar with the recipe and had no difficulty putting it together.  At least, we didn’t for the first twenty minutes.  Then…

“Potter, _stop_!” he suddenly snapped at me.

“What?” I demanded irritably, but I did stop lest the potion blow up in my face for some reason I had failed to divine.  Malfoy was, much to my annoyance, much better at this than me.  Considering the amount of reading I had done into the topic, I had no doubt that Malfoy had real experience to be so much better than me.

“You’re stirring it way too fast,” he said imperiously.  “Haven’t you ever brewed before, for Merlin’s sake?”

“No, Malfoy.  I have not,” I bit out quietly.

“What?” he blinked at me in perfect surprise.  “Your parents never gave you any lessons?  At all?”

I worked to keep my glare from turning bitter as I stared at the potion instead of looking at Malfoy, as he demonstrated the proper speed for stirring.

“Hmn,” he said after a moment, regaining his arrogant poise.  “I would have thought the precious Golden Boy would have been tutored before Hogwarts,” he murmured with a brief glance back toward Ethan – who was stirring much as Malfoy was demonstrating.

“Okay, I get it,” I snapped, snatching the stirring rod back and mimicking the pace Malfoy had used.  The unfortunate fact was that Ethan _had_ gotten lessons last year.  The master who was hired to give the lessons would only teach one person at a time.  Then he’d gotten called away for an emergency before I could get my lessons and they’d never been rescheduled.  I’d asked once and mum had promised to set something up.  As it had never happened, I assumed she’d forgotten and I hadn’t bothered to ask again.

Malfoy huffed imperiously and turned back to preparing the ingredients.  “Sheesh, Potter.  I hadn’t taken you for one incapable of handling constructive criticism.”

I hesitated a moment, but I wasn’t eager to alienate my dorm-mates regardless of their family reputation.  “The criticism was appreciated,” I corrected as politely as I could when I was still horribly annoyed and embarrassed.

Malfoy looked at me funny, but at least he shut up about my family – for the moment.  I rather doubted I’d heard the last of that.


	4. A Troll

**31 October 1991**

**A Girl's Bathroom**

* * *

 

I could literally feel the blood draining from my face as I skidded to a halt in the doorway of the girl’s bathroom where my connection to Ethan had led me.  Reading about a troll and seeing one in person were two _very_ different things.

I took in the scene quickly.  Granger was on the other side of the bathroom where she’d have had to get around the troll to escape.  That seemed exceedingly unlikely given the fact that she wasn’t trying to fight _or_ flee.  She was curled up in a ball screaming hysterically.  As though that was going to help anything.  Ron was crumpled against the wall near Granger, lying in a pool of blood with one arm and one leg bent in directions they’d never been meant to bend.  I couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not in the quick glance I was able to give him.

Ethan, thankfully, was still on his feet and he looked unharmed for the moment.  He was incredibly pale and had his wand pointed at the troll though his hand was shaking so badly that I had no doubt he’d never manage to cast a spell even if his voice had been working properly, which it did not seem to be.

The troll was just turning away from Ron toward Ethan.  My breath caught as I processed what was coming next.  The troll would turn, Ethan would continue to tremble and stutter, and then the troll would swing that massive club, and Ethan would be in the same shape as Ron.

I didn’t think.  I just lifted my wand toward the troll, wanting more than anything for it to die.

A flash of green light the same color as my eyes stole away my vision and my head spun.  I stumbled as weakness abruptly bled into my limbs.  The sound of something incredibly heavy slamming into the floor was enough to jar me back to awareness and I found myself leaning heavily against the frame of the door.  Granger was still screaming.  Ethan was staring between me and the troll with his mouth hanging wide open.  Ron still wasn’t moving.

And then there were hurried footsteps behind me.  I turned to see who it was, but the move disrupted my position and I felt my knees give way as soon as my shoulder slipped off the doorframe.

Strong arms caught around me before I could hit the floor and I lifted my head, blinking against the dizziness to identify my Head of House supporting me.

“Merlin!” McGonagall nearly screamed, and a moment later she was running back out with Ron floating in front of her, leaving a trail of blood dripping along the floor.

“Potter, are you okay?” Professor Snape inquired very firmly.

“Yeah,” I sighed.  “Just tired, Professor.”

Snape looked at me critically for a moment, and then carefully passed me off to someone else, whom I identified as Professor Quirrell by the odor of garlic.

I vaguely heard Snape coaxing Granger to drink a calming draught, and then yelling at Ethan for trying to leave, to which Ethan immediately protested that he needed to check on Ron.  I didn’t pay much attention to the rest of the conversation, but I had no doubt that Snape won as Ethan did not go anywhere.  At least Granger had finally shut up.

“Potter.”

I lifted my head when I heard Professor Snape say my name.  I could always tell if he was talking to me or Ethan by his tone.  I was pretty sure this one was for me even though his tone was rather strange.  It wasn’t laced with disdain as it always was for Ethan.  He sounded almost… nervous.

“You killed the troll?” the man inquired when I met his eyes.

I nodded and looked at the unmarked corpse.  The only way to tell that it was dead rather than sleeping was the fact that its chest didn’t move.  It was too still to be a living thing.

“How?” Snape pressed, still with that odd tone.

“I…”  I frowned and could only shrug.  “I’m not sure, Professor,” I admitted, sighing wearily as I struggled regain some coherency.  “It was going to attack Ethan.  I just…  I pointed my wand at it and I just wanted it to die.”

Quirrell’s arms tightened around my shoulders almost painfully while Snape stepped forward and picked up my wand, which I only now realized I’d dropped at some point as it had ended up on the floor.

Snape pressed the tip of his wand to the tip of mine and quietly incanted, “ _Priori incantatum._ ”  The same green light came from my wand, causing Snape to flinch almost imperceptibly.  A small, ghostly image of the troll appeared within the green light and then Snape moved his wand away and both light and troll vanished.  The professor’s eyes met mine again and I could not begin to read the expression there.

“Professor Dumbledore!”  Ethan’s exclamation broke whatever was passing between Snape and myself, and I looked up to find the headmaster looking down on me with an expression as unreadable as Snape’s, but far more disconcerting.  “Is Ron going to be okay?” Ethan demanded immediately.

Those too-blue eyes turned from me to my brother and I watched as sympathy suddenly filled them.  “I have not yet been to check on Mr. Weasley,” he said in a patient, compassionate tone.  “I assure you that Madam Pomfrey is doing everything in her power to heal him.  For now, I need you to tell me what happened here tonight.  I believe that I instructed everyone to return to their common rooms.  How is it that the four of you ended up in this bathroom with the troll?”  His eyes twinkled just a bit on that last sentence.

Ethan swallowed hard and I noticed that he was still trembling pretty badly.  I wondered if it was because of Ron.  Myself, I was starting to feel a little stronger, so I pushed myself fully upright, and Quirrell released his hold on me, though he did stay close.

“Well, sir, after the professors left to find the troll, Ron and I realized that Hermione hadn’t been at the feast, so she’d not have heard the announcement.  She…” he glanced back at the girl who was now quiet but staring at the bloody spot on the floor with glazed eyes.  “W-we heard that she was in this bathroom crying because of something Ron said earlier, so we thought we’d better come and make sure she got back to the common room safely.  Only, by the time we got here…” he drew in a shuddering breath and his eyes darted to the troll’s corpse and away again.  “The troll was already in here, and we heard Hermione scream, so we came to help, but…”  A shudder coursed through his whole body and I felt fear and revulsion coming strongly through our bond.

Snape sighed irritably when Ethan did not go on.  He stepped forward and harshly shoved a small potion bottle into Ethan’s line of sight.  “A calming draught, Potter.  Drink it.”

It was a testament to just how out of it Ethan actually was that he didn’t even glare at Snape as he took the potion and downed it in one swig, barely even grimacing at the taste.  I watched his eyes dilate and his shoulders relaxed as the trembling subsided.

“What happened when you and Mr. Weasley came into the bathroom, Ethan?” Dumbledore prompted gently.

Ethan blinked slowly and then went on speaking in a slightly disturbing monotone that I don’t think I’d ever heard from my brother before.  “The bathroom was destroyed already and Hermione was in the corner.  Ron and I started yelling to distract it from her, and then…”  A frown worked its way onto his face and his breath was slightly labored despite the calming draught.  “It was so fast.  It was mostly moving pretty slow, but then it looked at Ron and… and it swung that club… and Ron just went flying and he hit the wall so hard.  Then Hermione started screaming and I drew my wand, but I couldn’t think of any spells.  Then it started to turn toward me and I knew that I was going to die, and then…”  Green eyes flicked up to meet mine, “and then there was this bright flash of green, and it hit the troll right in the chest, and then…  Was that the Killing Curse?”

Dumbledore looked at Snape, who nodded slightly, and then everyone was looking at me.

I swallowed uneasily and said the first thing that came to mind, “The Unforgiveables are only illegal when cast against a human being.”  As soon as I’d said it, it occurred to me that quoting relevant laws probably made me seem even guiltier, but it was hardly my fault that my brain, when stressed, took refuge in facts.

“That is true, Harry,” Dumbledore said after a moment, “and I believe that it is quite clear that you were acting in self-defense.  I am curious as to how you became involved tonight, however.”

“Oh,” I frowned, relieved to realize that I wasn’t, apparently, going to get into trouble for accidentally using an Unforgivable.  “Well, I was on my way back to my common room with the rest of my house when I felt Ethan get more afraid that he’s ever been before.  I thought he must have run into the troll, so I came to find him.”

“You willingly put yourself in danger in order to protect your brother,” Dumbledore translated into Gryffindor, his eyes suddenly twinkling brightly again.

I frowned at his apparent need to reword my explanation into the most “heroish” interpretation – by the way Snape was sneering at the headmaster, I figured he felt similarly.  Slytherin hadn’t been my first choice of house, but it had grown on me over the last two months.  Sure, the Slytherins tended to have somewhat sadistic senses of humor, but it turned out that the Sorting Hat had been right.  There was some kind of common factor among most of the Slytherins that let me fit in there in a way I’d never experienced before.  Most of them didn’t really talk to me all that much still, but that didn’t mean that I wasn’t becoming increasingly proud of my house.

“That was very _noble_ of you, Harry,” Dumbledore winked.

I tried to turn my sneer into a smile but I’m not sure I succeeded.  If the headmaster was insinuating that perhaps I should have been sorted into Gryffindor then he was burning some seriously questionable incense.

“Well, I think perhaps we should be getting along to the infirmary,” Dumbledore decided after a moment.  “I think you all might benefit from a night there.”

“I’m fine,” I protested, “Can’t I just go to my dorm?”

“Potter, the amount of magic it took to cast that curse with intent alone was enough to have killed most children your age.  Just because you have managed to stand upright without aid does not mean you are ‘fine’,” Snape frowned.  “You’re lucky that you’re not in a coma.”

I blinked in surprise at that.  I knew that the Unforgivables were some seriously power-intensive spells, and I knew that intent based magic was more draining because the caster was essentially forcing the magic into the desired shape instead of carefully molding it with the incantation and wand-movement.  I just hadn’t comprehended what exactly would happen if you combined the two.  I’d never heard the slightest suggestion of such a thing in all of my reading.

“Okay,” I conceded, because there really wasn’t anything else to say at that point, even if I had been foolish enough to argue the point with my Head of House.

Snape just gave a tiny nod that suggested he’d had no doubt about my compliance, and then turned and drew Granger to her feet.  She was still staring blankly at the floor, but she stood easily enough when prompted.

Dumbledore instructed Quirrell to stay and take care of the troll while he put an arm around Ethan’s shoulders to guide him as we left the bathroom.  Ethan was still fairly dazed and I wondered if those hadn’t been concentrated calming draughts Snape had been handing out.

The walk seemed to take forever with Granger and Ethan shuffling along like inferi.  We were quite near the hospital wing when a keening cry suddenly echoed through the halls, followed immediately by the most agonized sobbing imaginable.

We all froze for a moment before words worked their way into the cries.

“No, no, Ronnie, no, my baby, no, RONNIE!”

“No,” Ethan breathed, horror pinging along our link despite the calming draught.  “NO!” he shouted, and abruptly dislodged himself from Dumbledore and sprinted around the last corner and into the infirmary.

I continued after him at a slightly faster pace, but I knew what I would find before I made it through the doors.  When Ethan went from horror and fear to blank, horror-tinged numbness, I knew that Ron hadn’t survived.  The continued sobbing from a woman who must have been Mrs. Weasley also made it fairly obvious.

“ETHAN!”

“Oh, Gods, Ethan!”

I entered the infirmary in time to see my parents wrap themselves around Ethan, who’d fallen to his knees before the sight of Mrs. Weasley clutching her bloodied, lifeless son to her chest as she screamed.  Mr. Weasley was collapsed in a chair next to them with his head in his hands and his shoulders shaking.

Snape led Granger to a bed down at the other end of the ward and Madam Pomfrey bustled after him and began casting diagnostic spells on the girl who still seemed to be catatonic.  Once Granger was being seen to, he returned to my side, sneering hatefully at the trembling mass that was my family.  Ethan had finally broken into sobs and Mum wasn’t doing much better.  Even Dad had tears on his face, and he _never_ cried.

The professor’s large hand came to rest on my shoulder and I looked up to meet his concerned eyes.  “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low enough that it wouldn’t carry beyond us given the other noise in the room.

I was slightly shocked that my Head of House seemed to genuinely care about how I was feeling.  It wasn’t like _I’d_ just lost my best friend, and I hadn’t even thought he’d liked me.  Thus far, he’d mostly ignored me, except in Potions class, where he’d discovered that I could virtually always be counted upon to correctly answer any question that was referenced in the book and that Ethan almost never could.  That had resulted in many points gained for Slytherin and lost for Gryffindor while he made Ethan look like an idiot and me look brilliant.  He was easily my favorite professor just because the man was utterly awesome in almost every way, but I hadn’t thought that he’d liked me as anything but the preferable Potter twin.

“I’m fine, Professor,” I assured him.  I’d never actually liked Ron, anyway, though I knew better than to say that right now.

He stared at me for a moment, then finally nodded and led me to the nearest bed.  He produced another potion from somewhere inside his robe and handed it to me.  The label told me that it was a revitalizer, which was a cure for magical exhaustion.  I popped the cork and drank it down quickly, trying not to taste it any more than absolutely necessary.  A tingly warmth ignited in my chest almost immediately and began creeping out toward my extremities.  I hadn’t even realized that I was so cold until then.  Maybe Snape had been right about how drained I’d been.

“Harry, what…?  What are you doing here?” Mum’s voice drew my attention as I was thanking the professor for the potion.

“Harry?” Dad, too, noticed me then.

“Harry is the hero, tonight,” Dumbledore announced with a sad smile.  The Weasleys didn’t seem to be processing anything going on in the room at the moment, but Madam Pomfrey still drew curtains around them and cast a ward that, thankfully, silenced the wailing.  I really was getting a headache between Granger before and Mrs. Weasley now.

All eyes turned to me again, which I found somewhat disconcerting.  Ethan was still sniffling, but the sobs had stopped, at least.

“What happened?” Mum inquired, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.

Dumbledore quietly went through what brought the Gryffindors to the bathroom first, and then, “And Harry, here, sensed his brother’s need and arrived just in time to save him.”

“How?” Dad asked in a tone that suggested my saving Ethan was quite nearly impossible.

I frowned slightly at Dad, but that was nothing compared to the homicidal glare Snape was sending his way.

“Intent-based magic,” Dumbledore replied with a strange tone and an expression I couldn’t decipher.  “It manifested as the Killing Curse.”

Mum and Dad’s jaws dropped in tandem.

“That’s not possible,” Dad suddenly grated out in such a tone that I couldn’t help but flinch.  It reminded me of when Mr. Ollivander had tried to insist that I use a wand that was brother to Voldemort’s, or when Dumbledore tried to explain that it was okay that I was a Slytherin.  It was a tone that I was beginning to understand was Dad trying to deny something about his family that he found beyond reproach.  So far, it always seemed to be about me and Dad never seemed to be successful in denying it.

“I’m afraid _priori incantatum_ confirmed it, James,” Dumbledore said and I recognized his tone now as apologetic.

Dad looked at me again and I couldn’t help but cringe away from the horrified, marginally disgusted look he was directing at me.

“I don’t understand,” Ethan complained quietly.  “He didn’t mean to do it like that, Dad.”

James swallowed hard and wrapped his arm around Ethan’s shoulders again. 

It was mum who answered him.  “Sweetie, intent-based magic cannot act outside the base affinity of the magical core.”

A gasp slipped between my lips as I understood her meaning, and a warm hand settled on my shoulder again, squeezing reassuringly.

“What does that mean?” Ethan whined, clearly in no mood to decipher magical theory.

“It means,” Dad said tightly, “that your brother is one of the rare individuals whose magical core has strayed outside the family magic and settled on an opposed affinity.  It means that Harry’s magic is Dark, Ethan.”

Ethan gasped, too, now, and turned a look on me that matched the one Dad had sent.

Mum didn’t look disgusted, but she did look disappointed and distraught.

I shrank back further and I felt Snape settle a second hand on my other shoulder.

“Don’t you fucking touch him, Snivellus!” Dad snapped, and his wand was suddenly in his hand and pointed at Professor Snape, but not before Snape had drawn his wand and pointed it at Dad so fast I could only stare in awe.  “You and your spineless snakes are the worst thing that’s ever happened to this family!  You stay away from my son!”

“Really, Potter, I had thought even you would be intelligent enough to comprehend the fact that his magical affinity was settled long before he was sorted into Slytherin or introduced to me.”

“Gentlemen,” Dumbledore interrupted firmly but calmly.  “It has been a very trying night for everyone.  I think it may be best if we all got some sleep.  Severus, would you escort Harry back to his dormitory and give him a dreamless sleep?”

“Of course, Albus,” Snape murmured, lowering his wand only after Dad had done the same.  Dad was now studiously _not_ looking at me.  Mum was rubbing her temples like she was getting a headache, and Ethan was now staring at the curtains behind which his best friend’s body was cooling.

“Come along, Potter,” Snape said quietly, his hand on my shoulder again, directing me out of the infirmary.

I followed along with him numbly, trying to absorb this new knowledge about myself.  My core was Dark.  I was a Dark wizard.  I was a Dark wizard who was sorted into Slytherin and wielding a wand that was the brother to the Dark Lord’s wand.

… _was_ I destined to be evil?  Did I get a choice?

I couldn’t stop thinking about the way Dad and Ethan had looked at me, even Mum.  I was losing my family, and for the life of me, I couldn’t think of any way to stop it.  I couldn’t think of anything I could have even done differently up to this point.  There’s no way I could have known about the wand or the sorting.  Neither could have been changed.  I couldn’t control my magical affinity.  I couldn’t have done anything other than try to save Ethan tonight.  He was my brother.  I protected him.  I’d _always_ protected him.

I was losing my family, and there was nothing that I could do about it.

Professor Snape stopped outside the door to the common room and presented me with the dreamless sleep potion.  “Be certain that you have at least six hours to sleep before taking that,” he cautioned, his rumbling baritone pitched low and possibly more gentle than I’d ever heard it.  “And don’t drink it until you’re sitting in bed.  It reacts differently with different people, but you’ll be sleeping between five seconds and five minutes after consuming it.”

“Thank you, Professor,” I said quietly.  Even as this all had made my family like me less, it had obviously had the opposite effect on Professor Snape’s opinion of me. 

Snape stared at me for a long moment, then narrowed his eyes slightly and said, “If you ever need to talk, Mr. Potter, my door is always open to you,” still in that gentle voice.

I managed a small smile in response to that.  Maybe that was the answer.  If I couldn’t make my family accept me, maybe I should just get a new family.  The Slytherins wouldn’t reject me for being Dark or for having a wand like Voldemort’s.  They’d probably be like Snape and just like me more if they knew.

I was sick to death of hating myself for being who I was.  Maybe I should just give up and to Hel with anyone who didn’t like it.

“Thank you, sir,” I nodded and Snape took his leave quickly, allowing me to find my own way into the common room rather than taking me inside by the hand like an invalid.  We were Slytherins, not Hufflepuffs.

I took a steadying breath, tucking the potion into my pocket, then spoke the password quietly and stepped into the common room.

I was not surprised to find almost everyone was still up given the general excitement and novelty of a troll getting loose in the school.  No doubt the various groups were avidly taking odds on whether or not any of the Puffs got killed on the way to their common room, and probably if my absence was due to my own demise.  I didn’t doubt that it was also being discussed whether this incident might be enough to get Dumbledore removed as headmaster.  A rather stunning majority of Slytherin, Darks _and_ Neutrals, loathed the old man with a passion, and I couldn’t say I blamed them.  Though I was something of an exception most of the time – though perhaps not after tonight – the headmaster treated most Slytherins like second-class citizens.

My entrance drew every eye and a hush abruptly swept the room.

“Where have you been, Harry?” Draco – he’d insisted on a first-name basis the first week and courtesy had demanded I reciprocate – was the first to speak as he approached me.

“Ran into the troll,” I admitted, eyeing the avid audience cautiously.  These were people who could accept me, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t betray me if the opportunity arose and seemed worth it.  We were Slytherins, that fact was understood.  The fact that everyone understood made it okay, in my mind.  Everyone here knew the unspoken rules.  “Ron Weasley’s dead,” I added, and then more cheerfully, “and Granger might have had a mental breakdown.”

“The Weasley kid is really dead?” Davian Avery, a seventh year prefect stepped forward to demand.  “You didn’t just see him get hurt?”

“I saw his mother weeping over his corpse,” I said neutrally.  I wasn’t dumb enough to antagonize the upper years, even when they were annoying.

“How did he die?” Tracey Davis asked gleefully, practically skipping to my side.

I raised an eyebrow at the strange girl.  Tracey was, from what I’d gathered thus far… creepy.  It wasn’t so much the creepy things that she said that I found unnerving, but the way that she didn’t seem at all aware of the fact that it was creepy.  The fact that she perked up like an excited puppy every time anyone mentioned death, torture, or lethal curses may have also had something to do with it.

“Hit with a troll’s club and tossed into a wall,” I admitted.

She nodded excitedly, “Probably massive internal bleeding, ruptured organs, compound fractures, punctured lungs…” she said almost dreamily.  “Did he scream or was he unconscious right away?”

I blinked at her morbidity reaching levels I’d not seen before.  “He was unconscious.”

“Ah,” she grimaced faintly, as though in disappointment.

“What happened to the troll?”

I was surprised, not by the content of the question, but by the fact that the inquirer was none other than Theo Nott, a boy even more taciturn than myself, who redefined stoic in my estimation.  This was the first time he’d spoken to me.  “I, ah… killed it,” I said cautiously.

“How?” Avery pressed.

“Killing Curse,” I admitted tersely, glaring at him and waiting to be called a liar.

I wasn’t disappointed.  “ _You_ cast the Killing Curse?” he said doubtfully.

“Not intentionally,” I glared, heading toward my dorm in hopes that I’d only have to deal with my dorm mates questioning me then.

“No way!” someone that I didn’t know declared before I’d gotten three steps.  “You couldn’t do that with a Light core, little boy.”

“I know,” I snapped without turning around.

The common room was quiet behind me as I slipped into my dorm.


	5. Christmas

**9 November 1991**

**Hogwarts Library**

* * *

 I sighed irritably as my heart started pounding again. That had been going on for an hour now, and it made it almost impossible to get any studying done. There hadn’t been a lot of contemplation involved in disdaining the Quidditch match in favor of more time in the library. Gryffindor was playing Slytherin, which to me, was all the more reason to avoid the Quidditch pitch today.

Things between Ethan and I had been difficult since Halloween. Not only was he looking at me like I was the next coming of Voldemort, but he had apparently shared the events of that evening and the nature of my magical core with the entirety of Gryffindor house. And of course, Gryffindors being the loudmouths that they are had very quickly spread that knowledge around the rest of the school.

My own house didn’t seem to know what to do with me now. As I’d suspected, they seemed to generally warm toward me with a newfound knowledge of our unexpected camaraderie. At the same time, it was clear that they still didn’t trust me. Yes, I was Dark, but I was still from a Light family. Personally, I was getting sick of all of it. I didn’t want to be Dark, but all the wishing in the world wasn’t going to change it. I hadn’t talked to anyone in my family since Halloween. Frankly, I was too afraid to owl my parents. I wasn’t sure what to say, and I was really afraid that they might not write back at all.

So, I devoted my time to studying. Well, studying even more than normal. Classes were great, but they were all pretty easy. Besides, there was so much to learn that they didn’t even teach us in class. That’s what I spent most of my time studying. Practical spells that weren’t in the Standard Book of Spells or that we wouldn’t be learning this year. I had never been one to sit back and wait for others to catch up when I could go on ahead.

Unfortunately, I probably should have just gone to the game. Ethan was playing - Seeker. A well-placed word from dad, and ample showing off during flying lessons, had made Ethan the youngest Seeker in a century. What that meant for me was that I was continually distracted by Ethan’s excitement, fear, exhilaration, and everything else he was feeling during his first match. Given how much anger I was feeling, I suspected that the Slytherin team was playing as dirty as could be expected with Flint as captain. Mostly, I was trying not to pay it any mind.

I was trying so hard to ignore it all, that it took me a while to realize that the fear now coming from Ethan was getting to be a bit much for a simple Quidditch match. Just when I was beginning to contemplate running out to the pitch to find out if my brother was in serious danger, the feeling was abruptly replaced by that of extreme exhilaration and pride.

I took a slow, deep breath, and tried to calm down. _Stupid Quidditch_. Only the first game of our school career, and I already hated it. Based on what I was feeling, it was pretty obvious that Gryffindor had won. That meant that a bunch of brassed off Slytherins were on their way to the common room, and a pride of exuberant lions were undoubtedly soon to invade the school. With that in mind, I stood and returned to the stacks for more books.

I had no plans to leave the library before dinner.

* * *

 

**25 December 1991**

**Potter Manor**

* * *

 I lifted my head at the sound of Ethan’s exclamation, and felt my stomach knot when I saw the pile of silvery material he’d just drawn from his open gift. It was Dad’s invisibility cloak. The cloak that had been handed down in the family from father to son for the last seven hundred years. I shouldn’t have been surprised. I knew that. I had been expecting this. Kind of hard not to, really. I was the oldest, but Ethan always did seem to get everything.

And yeah, I knew I was being bitter. I knew I shouldn’t.

But it was getting harder to care.

I had always been okay with Ethan being the favorite. He was the Boy-Who-Lived, after all. He was everyone’s favorite. It was harder now that I didn’t just feel like the second favorite. They almost seemed to _dislike_ me now. Oh, they didn’t say it, of course. They wouldn’t. But I could still feel it.

Watching Ethan trying on his new invisibility cloak, proud new owner of the family’s most precious heirloom, it was really hard to remember why I shouldn’t be bitter.

I turned my attention back to my own gifts. Mum and Dad had gotten me lots of nice gifts. Well, most of them were nice. The new fur-lined cloak and the Norwegian Ridgeback hide gloves were quite nice. The _stack_ of books on various Light-aligned magicks was little bit insulting. Considering what we so recently learned about my magical core, the selection of reading material was more than a little suggestive. Oh, it all looked interesting enough, and I didn’t doubt I’d end up reading it. It was the principle of the thing.

I was a little bit surprised by the presents I’d gotten from other people.  Professor Snape’s gift, in particular, was incredibly thoughtful and I could hardly wait to dive into it.  A book entitled _Dark Magic and You, a Guide_.  His note indicated that it would appear to be a simple potions manual to anyone without a Dark magical core. 

Tracey, who’d warmed up toward me since Ron’s death, had sent me a book as well.  I was shocked to discover that someone had actually written a book entitled, _The 1,000 Most Gruesome Deaths of the Last 1,000 Years: Fully Illustrated._   Flipping to a random page, I learned that Samuel the Serpent, a 14th century parselmouth, had been disemboweled and suspended by his own intestines for three days – kept alive with magic – and then publically immolated.  The accompanying picture was, indeed, quite… graphic.

Shuddering slightly, I closed the book and tucked it into one of my expanded pockets.  I’d have to make a point to keep that one from my parents’ notice.  They wouldn’t understand Tracey’s morbid sense of humor and would doubtlessly read into the gift unreasonably.

Draco’s gift was more traditional for a pureblood of moderate acquaintance.  He sent a monogrammed stationery set.  The fact that it had to have cost close to a hundred galleons between the platinum accents and top-of-the-line enchantment suite meant that he valued our friendship and wished for it to become even closer.  I was relieved that I’d opted to buy him that set of charmed cloak pins bearing his family crest instead of the nice but more common toilet set.  It wouldn’t have been an unforgiveable faux pas at this point in our acquaintance, but it would have indicated that I didn’t care about our relationship as much as him, which would have put me at a disadvantage if I _did_ choose to try to get closer.

I was glad that I’d spent as much time as I had learning all the ins and outs of pureblood etiquette that dad never bothered teaching us in any detail.  It was an unfortunate fact that modern Light families could get away with comporting themselves more like modern muggles.  The Dark families and most of the neutrals didn’t stand for that.  I’d studied it mostly out of curiosity, but after meeting some muggleborns besides Mum, I was starting to seriously question the wisdom in emulating them.  The term “uncultured heathen” came to mind.

“Harry, what’s that?”

I looked up, drawn out of my thoughts by Dad’s voice.  All three of them were looking at me, and Dad was focused on Draco’s gift.  He leaned over and snatched up Draco’s card before I could even wonder if I should try to stop him.

His face darkened as he read the short note.  It wasn’t anything incriminating really.  Just a polite couple of lines following proper etiquette.  I suspected the etiquette might be what was bothering Dad now.

“Malfoy?” he frowned at me.  “Why are you getting gifts from Malfoy?”

I opened my mouth to respond only for him to interrupt sharply.

“Don’t you lie to me, Harry.  I know exactly what a gift like this means.  Why didn’t you tell me that you were friends with that boy?”

I stared at my dad for a moment, insulted by his assumption.  I _hadn’t_ meant to lie to him, and I obviously realized that he would understand the meaning of a proper pureblood gift exchange.  He had been properly trained in pureblood customs even though he preferred to pretend otherwise.  “Why would I tell you that?” I asked, keeping my voice calm and even.  “You’ve never asked me about any of my friends.  You’ve barely talked to me at all since my Sorting.”

“Merlin!  You even _act_ like a Slytherin now!” Dad spat in blatant disgust, looking at me like I was some foul insect.

“James!” Mum snapped, getting up to stand between him and me.  “Why don’t you go cool down.”  It obviously was not a suggestion.

Dad huffed angrily, but he didn’t question her.  He never did, really.  Mum knew some very creative spells.  “Come on, Ethan, let’s go play some one-on-one,” he grumbled, already heading for the door as Ethan dropped the invisibility cloak in the middle of the floor and trotted after him.

My eyes were drawn to the priceless fabric lying forgotten on the floor.  I’d never have treated a valuable heirloom like that.  _I bet Ethan gets it lost or destroyed before he has a chance to pass it to his kids_ , I thought bitterly.

I heard a heavy sigh and remembered that Mum was still in the room.

“Harry, do you understand why your Dad’s upset?” she asked after a moment.

“I know he doesn’t like Draco’s father, but I don’t see why he’s mad about this, no,” I admitted grumpily to the floor, refusing to lift my eyes.  The way my family looked at me lately hurt enough that I’d started to avoid examining their expressions.

“He dislikes Lucius Malfoy for a reason,” Mum explained gravely.  “He’s a Death Eater, and he’s raised his son to be just like him.  Harry, he just doesn’t want to see you get drawn into the pureblood politics of Dark wizarding society, and neither do I.”

“But I _am_ a Dark Wizard,” I couldn’t help but snap, even if I didn’t have the guts to look her in the eyes when I did it.

“It’s _what_ you are, Harry.  It doesn’t have to be _who_ you are,” she pointed out.

I didn’t say anything because I knew she wouldn’t want to hear it, but I couldn’t help but think that I’d have to be pretty stupid to go around pretending to be Light like Uncle Remus did.  Didn’t matter how hard he tried, Light Wizards would always judge him for being a Dark Creature.  I had been continuing to act like a Light Wizard since Halloween and it didn’t change the fact that my family could barely talk to me.  I couldn’t begin to imagine why I’d want to spend the rest of my life pretending to be one of them when they’d never fully accept me.

“Just… don’t get too close to Malfoy, okay?” Mum said when I didn’t respond.  “Don’t…  Don’t believe the things he tells you.  The Dark… they’ll say terrible things to recruit you, okay?  They’ll turn you against us.”

I really didn’t think my family needed any help in turning me against them.  They seemed to be trying really hard to do that themselves, and they were doing a pretty good job so far.  I didn’t feel like I was at home here.  I didn’t feel welcome.  Mum and Dad were always staring at me like I was going to start throwing around Killing Curses as soon as they turned their backs.  I just wanted to go back to Hogwarts.  Back to Slytherin.

“Can I go to my room?” I asked quietly.

There was a moment of silence and then another heavy sigh.  “Yeah.  Go ahead.  I’ll send your things up there for you.”

I headed straight up to my little hidey-hole in the attic and spent a long time curled up with my arms wrapped around my knees, just staring at the wall and thinking.  I didn’t cry.  I didn’t even feel like crying. 

I wondered why that was.

I supposed I was just getting tired.  Too tired of feeling like a freak.  I didn’t want to hurt anymore.  I didn’t want to care anymore.  And maybe it was working.  It hurt, the way Dad looked at me.  The way Mum told me to be something I wasn’t.  The way Ethan _didn’t_ look at me anymore.  At all.  It still hurt, but I was starting to be more… cynical.  I didn’t surprise me anymore.  I expected nothing more, so the pain just made me angry instead of making me feel like I was going to fall apart.

My eye caught on a pile of books and drew me out of my spiraling thoughts.  I looked around the little room.  It seemed much smaller than it was because it was so packed full of things I’d squirrelled up here over the years.  Most of it was things I wasn’t supposed to have.  I should probably move this stuff out of here, I realized.  I barely fit through the elf tunnels now.  There was no guarantee that I’d be able to get here without help come spring.

I frowned around at my most prized possessions apart from my wand.  A year ago, I wouldn’t have worried too much about stuffing these things in the back of my closet.  Mum and Dad never really paid attention to my room or my things.  Now, however, I was a Slytherin.  I didn’t think they trusted me all that much, and I really wouldn’t be overly surprised if they ordered the house elves to go through my things.

I needed somewhere private to keep my things.

I gave that some thought.  There was no way that I could devise anything that Mum and Dad couldn’t overcome.  No matter how studious I was, no matter that I was at the top of my year (easily now that Granger had been shipped off to Mungo’s), Dad was a top auror and Mum an Unspeakable.  It would take them seconds to dismantle any ward I could work.

So, I’d just have to make sure that they didn’t know that there was anything to dismantle.

With that in mind, I worked my way back to my room, then headed for the library.  It was a relief to have something to study.  Anything to take my mind off my family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter that I had posted previously. The next chapter is basically done and will be posted later today.


	6. Hero's Reward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The LONG awaited next installment of this story. Unless, of course, you've just started reading it on AO3, in which case you won't have had to wait long at all. If you were reading this on ffnet, however, this has been a long time coming. I hope you enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this is freshly written, meaning that it has received minimal editing. If you find any errors that are bothersome to you, let me know about them and I'll see what I can do about fixing them. Otherwise, just enjoy and I'll get around to editing it again eventually.

* * *

**8 June 1992**

**The Great Hall**

* * *

“And before I announce the winner of the House Cup, there are some last minute points to award,” Dumbledore declared jovially from his place at the head of the Great Hall, blue eyes twinkling merrily out at the gathered student body, with emphasis on the table of red and gold.  “To Mr. Harry Potter, for courage and integrity in the face of overwhelming opposition, I award fifty points.”

There was a smattering of applause, mostly from the Slytherin table, though our lead was already overwhelming enough that the points meant little in truth.

“To Mr. Ethan Potter,” Dumbledore went on brightly, “for his use of a keen investigative mind and an indomitable spirit, I award fifty points.”

The applause came from the Gryffindor table this time and mutterings of unrest rose among the Slytherins.  Myself, I felt rather indignant, though not at all surprised at the injustice.  Ethan was being award points for nearly getting himself and his friends killed.  The _same_ amount of points that I had been given for saving their lives.  That was just exactly the picture perfect example of Hogwarts at its best.  The merit of your actions was based on the color of your tie rather than the actions themselves.

“To Mr. Dean Thomas,” Dumbledore continued, “for his irrefutable application of logic, I award fifty points.”

The applause from the Gryffindors grew louder as they watched the gap between their last place standing and the Slytherin’s first place standing rapidly begin to dwindle.  Proportionately, the grumblings from the Slytherins likewise rose.

“To Mr. Seamus Finnegan, for his bravery in the… _faces_ of adversity, I award fifty points.”

I quickly did the math in my head, then tightly crossed my arms over my chest.  I knew exactly where this was going and I could not have been more insulted.

“To Mr. Neville Longbottom, for his brilliant use of herbology, I award fifty points.”

We were tied for the win, now, I observed.  I was both surprised and suspicious of the fact that he hadn’t just given Neville an extra few points to make them the winners.  Then my suspicions proved true as the old man went on.  “To Miss Hermione Granger, for thinking about the safety of her classmates first and foremost, I award ten points.”

That _did_ sound about right, actually.  Ten points for trying to save lives.  Two hundred for almost getting killed.  That was Gryffindor Logic at its best.

“And now, I believe a change in decoration is in order!” Dumbledore declared jovially, clapping his hands to change the banners from Slytherin colors to Gryffindor.

I couldn’t help but wonder why we bothered to compete for House Points at all when it was abundantly clear that Dumbledore would award the cup to whomever he desired regardless of whether or not they deserved it.  If nothing else, he could have done this three days ago and given us a chance of regaining the lead before the winner was announced, but he wouldn’t want to do anything that might verge on “fair”.  That wasn’t the Gryffindor way.  Scream about fairness when it wasn’t freely offered to them, yes.  Offer it to a Slytherin?  Never.

Of course, this whole mess had really started four days ago.  I was in bed, just on the verge of dozing off when a sudden burst of fear and horror and dread had violently shoved me back into full awareness.  It was so reminiscent to the Troll Incident that, for a moment, I honestly contemplated just trying to ignore it and go back to sleep.  After all, though I’d managed to save Ethan’s, and probably Granger’s lives when I killed the troll, nothing good had come of it for me.  My Dark magical core had been discovered, leading to Mum and Dad treating me like a traitor to the family and the Light, never mind that it was entirely outside my control and I’d never used it for anything bad.

Despite any hard feelings I harbored about that incident, however, the fact remained that Ethan would have died had I not intervened and no matter how much he hated me and mocked me lately, he was still my brother and I loved him.

With a silent groan at myself for how much I would probably end up regretting it, I’d pushed myself out of bed and yanked a uniform over my pajamas before rushing out to find out what was trying to kill my brother this time.  I’d raced through the halls more quickly than ever and soon found myself staring with dread at the last door down the forbidden third floor corridor.

_Honestly_!  Freaking Gryffindors just _had_ to do the opposite of what they were told _all the time_.  Sometimes, I wondered if Dumbledore only made rules so that he could observe the creative ways in which his precious Gryffindors would subvert them.  At least Slytherins did so with a modicum of self-preservation and usually didn’t get caught.  Gryffindor seemed a house full of adrenaline junkies daring each other to do progressively more stupid and dangerous stunts.  A true wonder so many of them survived long enough to graduate.

What followed had been a gauntlet of increasingly more ridiculous tasks that made for an extremely uncomfortable delay.  I’d still been able to feel Ethan in the back of my mind, so I knew he was alive, but his situation wasn’t improving any, judging by the feelings of terror and dread he continued to project.  Though anger was also joining the mix the longer it took me to reach him.

I’d found Finnegan in the corridor outside the first door, his body almost completely covered by the priceless artifact that was the family invisibility cloak.  He was unconscious and his arm was bleeding, but he was alive and didn’t look to be in life threatening danger.

I’d silently cursed my brother for a fool and gave a moment of thought to getting Professor Snape, but the urgency of the situation was too great.  Ethan could have been dead by the time I was able to summon my Head of House.

So, I’d pressed on.  Behind Door Number One, I’d found a slavering beast, who was busy licking his privates with his middle head.  I hadn’t been exactly sure what to do about that, but I had noticd a small harp sitting innocuously near one wall of the room.  It seemed comically out of place here, which led me to believe there was a reason for it.  The charm to start it playing was an easy one that worked on all string instruments.  Though a children’s lullaby was the only one that had come to mind at the moment, it had soon done its job and the beast fell into a heavy slumber.

Rather shocked that that had really worked, I’d made my way to the trapdoor.  A levitation charm on my shoes had made for an unsteady but successful decent into the dimly lit room below.  I’d almost been expecting something to jump out and attack me at that point, but that room had seemed completely empty.

The only path forward had soon led me to a room occupied by a swarm of winged keys, of all things.  Absurdly, the makers of that room had left a collection of brooms near the wall to make it easier to pass the obstacle.  It truly had seemed that someone _wanted_ the tasks to be surmountable.

Given that this was Hogwarts and Dumbledore had made a point to mention the existence of this little gauntlet on the very first day of term, I had a few solvent guesses as to the likely culprit.

I’d always been a natural on a broom – even more so than Ethan, though I didn’t show off as much – so it had been no real difficulty to fly up and snatch the only key that had looked even remotely like the lock it was supposed to open.  A simple Impediment Shield was enough to stay the keys once I’d realized the remaining ones had gone into Attack Mode.

And so it was with a sneer at the simplicity of that very elaborate little game that I’d continued on to the next room.  Dumbledore was supposed to be some great and powerful wizard, yet he couldn’t figure out how to make challenges that would stump a _first year_?  Honestly?  Though I couldn’t perform them just yet, even I knew at least a dozen wards that would have been infinitely more effective than any of these little obstacles.  Even a simple _Age Line_ would have done what his warning at the beginning of the year had very clearly been unable to do.

And there I’d been, risking my neck _again_ , because Dumbledore refused to prevent his Gryffindors from getting themselves killed!  I’d had half a mind to grab the broom I’d just discarded and fly my way back out of this little nightmare and just go back to bed.

Another spike of fear from my brother had reminded me that I would never actually be able to bring myself to let Ethan come to harm if I could conceivably prevent it.

The next room had a checkered floor, large black and white squares all across the center of the dimly lit room.  I’d paused at the edge of the checkered floor, wondering what challenge awaited me here.  That’s when I’d spotted the massive Devil’s Snare curled up against one wall.  It had taken me a bit to make out in the gloom, but it had appeared to be clutching an entire game’s worth of life-size black and white chess pieces.

After staring at that for a moment, I’d concluded that Neville was down there somewhere, then cautiously crossed the open floor that I had realized must have been the actual game board.

In the next room, I’d warily crept passed an unconscious troll.  The room after that trapped me inside with fire across the only doors in or out.  After watching them warily for a moment to make sure the fire wasn’t going to spread, I had moved to the table lined with small potion bottles.  There was a slightly crumpled piece of parchment lying on the table and I had unfurled it to find a riddle written in Professor Snape’s handwriting.

After reading through it carefully – twice – I had only been able to frown at the bottle that was supposed to be the right one.  My instincts had told me that Professor Snape never would have made such an easy riddle and therefore it had to be a trap.  In fact, I was quite sure Snape would have just left the potions and expected the would-be interloper to identify the right one by examining the contents.

With that in mind, I’d checked each and every bottle, but I could only conclude that they were set out exactly as his riddle suggested.  Considering that my idiot brother had made it through here alive, I could only guess that it wasn’t a trick.

Wishing that I had brought a bezoar, just in case, I gulped down the potion and was relieved when I felt nothing more than the slight chill that I expected from the fireproofing potion.

I’d known that I was close then.  It felt like Ethan was in the next room, so it was with my wand clutched tightly in hand that I had stepped through the flames.

And almost tripped over Neville, who was sprawled on the floor just on the other side of the flame.  I hadn’t looked closely enough to tell if he was unconscious or dead as I lifted my wand to point at Professor Quirrell – of all people – who was holding Ethan at wandpoint.  For the first time I’d ever seen, the professor had not been wearing his turban.  Apparently, he was completely bald underneath it.  He looked weird that way.

“Professor Quirrell?” I’d said uncertainly as I walked a few careful steps further into the room.  Of everyone I might have guessed to be behind this, Quirrell would not have made the list.  The man was, by all appearances, a gibbering idiot with no redeeming qualities being concealed behind the unfortunate stutter.

The teacher sneered at me, which was a very unusual expression on his normally frightened face.  “Surprised?” he had said with supreme satisfaction.  He’d seemed to be enjoying that immensely.  His vindication after spending all year acting like an ignoramus, maybe?  “Of course, you are.  Who would ever suspect p-poor st-st-stuttering Profess-ssor Quirrell?”  He laughed nastily at that, gave me an ugly glare, then launched an expelliarmus at me.

I managed to dodge the first spell and the second, but the third came too fast and my wand went flying across the room, clattering to the floor in a way that made me wince for the abuse to my poor wand.

Before anything else could happen, Quirrell spun on his heel, his wand smoothly switching hands so that it remained pointing at my brother – who I thought must be petrified as he’d still felt frightened, but hadn’t been moving at all.

I’d gasped, stumbling back a couple steps while I felt the blood drain from my face.  On the back of Quirrell’s head there was… a face.  It had been distorted – like it had been shaped from warm wax – but the burning red eyes had given me an uncomfortable suspicion as to the… thing’s identity.  Mum and Dad had always said he wasn’t really dead.  Well, Dumbledore said it and Mum and Dad parroted it with complete confidence.

“Harry Potter,” the growth had smirked at me.  “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Why?” I hadn’t been able to help but ask.  Since when did anyone care about me?  Even Voldemort?  Since we were one year old, it had always been about Ethan.  Actually, that was Voldemort’s fault.  He’d started it by choosing him to try to kill.

“Because we’re not so different, you and I,” Voldegrowth had reasoned.  “Both Dark.  Both misunderstood.  I know that your family don’t understand you, Harry, but I do.  I really do.  I know how you must feel to live constantly in the shadow of your famous brother.”

I’d suspected that he really didn’t, but had enough self-preservation to keep my mouth shut on that thought.

“I can end it, you know?” he’d said in what might have been a seductive purr had he been less terrifying-looking.  “Right now.  I can take his life and leave you an only child, Harry.  It would take only two little words, and no one would ever have to know.  It would be our secret.”

My eyes narrowed slightly, but otherwise I think I kept my expression blank while I processed the fact that he thought I _wanted_ him to kill Ethan.  It made me wonder what he thought it was that had drawn me here.  If he was aware of the fact that I’d followed Ethan’s fear, then why would I have done that if I wanted him dead.  Wouldn’t I have stayed in bed and just hoped that he didn’t survive this time?  Why would I have saved him in the bathroom?  Quirrell was there for that and heard my explanation.  Hell, he kept me on my feet when I’d been too weary to stand.  Which, in retrospect, was more than a little creepy.

“It won’t hurt,” the face had gone on when I’d remained silent.  “It will be just like falling asleep and he will never have to come before you ever again.  Just two words, Harry.  Say the word and I will do it.”

I’d nodded slightly and allowed myself to swallow.  Two words.  Right.  Two words.  I had cast that spell before without them.  Without even knowing that I meant to.  Surely if I could do that…  Wandless magic wasn’t supposed to be that difficult.  Not for someone with enough power to cast the spell on intent alone.

I’d known that I might get us both killed if I failed.  I’d known that I could probably pretend like I agreed with him.  Ethan would die and he would let me live and no one ever had to know that I just let him walk away without even trying to save my brother.

I could.

But then, I wouldn’t be here if I was okay with protecting myself at Ethan’s expense.  Maybe Voldemort was as crazy as Mum and Dad always said, or maybe he’d gotten some bad information, but I was willing to die to try to save Ethan, even if he had been a berk this year.

With that conviction in mind, I’d nodded more firmly, as though I was agreeing with him.  When Voldegrowthhad  turned his head to look at Ethan in preparation to cast the curse, I beat him to it.  Throwing up my hand, I’d gasped out, “Avada Kedavra!”

Familiar green light filled the room and I’d felt exhaustion similar to what I’d felt after killing the troll.  My knees had stopped supporting me and I’d landed hard.  Blinking spots out of my eyes, I’d registered that Quirrellmort was down, not moving, and Ethan still seemed to be alive.  I had hardly believed that it had actually worked.  I’d cast an Unforgiveable wandlessly.

Then it had occurred to me that I’d just cast an Unforgiveable.  On a person that time.  And intentionally even.  Did the fact that I’d done it wandlessly mean that I was legally safe?  I mean, it would be obvious how Quirrell had died for anyone who’d seen the work of that curse before – like Dad – but without being able to prove that I’d cast it…

Staggering unsteadily to my feet, I’d moved as quickly as I could to pick up my own wand before retrieving Quirrell’s.  I’d felt a little more secure then, and took a step forward to confirm that the professor was, in fact, dead.

I’d immediately jumped back as _something_ rose up out of the body.  It looked kind of like smoke in water the way it moved.  Then a face materialized in it, and I swear the thing _smirked_ at me before flying swiftly out of the room.

I’d stared after it for a long moment, realizing that it was probably whatever part of Voldemort that had been possessing the professor.  I’d shaken myself quickly out of my shock and hurried back to my brother, now certain that Quirrell wasn’t going to get up and attack me. 

Ethan was _not_ petrified, I’d realized then.  I hadn’t been able to tell with the angle before, but I could see that his eyes were closed.  He seemed to be completely unconscious, but I could still fear his fear.  Some kind of nightmare curse, maybe?  I wasn’t sure, but at least he was alive.

I’d been in the process of breathing a sigh of relief when a stunner slammed into my back and everything went dark.

I’d woken up later in the hospital wing to learn that Dumbledore was the one to stun me.  Apparently, he’d walked in to find three bodies on the floor and only me standing and assumed the worst.  Just went to show how much all of his “there’s nothing wrong with having a Dark core” spiel was bullshit.  Who walks into that an assumes a first year is to blame?  Honestly.

I’d managed to avoid expulsion because Ethan was able to tell everyone that Quirrell/Voldemort had abducted and probably meant to kill him.  Of course, that only happened after Ethan had led his friends into that mess, foolishly believing himself capable of stopping the would-be thief - whom he’d believed to be Professor Snape.  Seamus hadn’t made it passed the Cerberus, which was apparently named Fluffy, of all things.  All three of the rest had made it to the potion room, where they’d thought only one could continue forward.  Ethan had gone on and Dean had gone back thinking to get help, only to end up grabbed by the Devil’s Snare – I hadn’t even seen him when I went through the chess room.  Neville had remained in the potion room until he realized the potion to go forward had reset itself, at which time he’d followed, only to be stunned immediately upon entering the room.

Dumbledore had listened to my account of the events, but I really didn’t think he’d trusted that I was telling the truth.  He was hopelessly stuck on the fact that Quirrell had clearly been killed by the Killing Curse.  He didn’t doubt that I could manage it wandlessly after what had happened on Halloween, but he seemed disturbed that I had used that spell.  I could only tell him honestly that I was terrified and desperate to save myself and Ethan.  That spell had saved me before.  Plus, Voldemort had brought it up, so of course I’d been thinking of it.

My exact role in that mess was kept between Dumbledore, key staff, Ethan, and my parents, so at least the entire world didn’t freak out.  The rumors were rampant though.  Everyone seemed to know that I’d again been involved in something nefarious, and that Ethan had barely made it out alive.  No one outside of Slytherin thought for a moment that maybe I had _saved_ my brother instead of being the reason he nearly died.

I wasn’t sure what they’d make of Dumbledore giving me fifty points, but I doubted they’d pay it much mind.  It was obviously a token offering to make himself seem fair while he arbitrarily handed Gryffindor the House Cup.

“That’s not fair,” Draco snarled, his complaint hidden beneath Gryffindor’s thunderous applause.

“Welcome to my life,” I responded grimly, turning to focus on my food.  There wasn’t any point in glaring at Dumbledore of the Gryffindorks.  “Fair” was a word that didn’t apply to Real Life.  It was for sanctioned games and toddler playdates and very little else.  This was a rule I’d learned by the age of four.  Draco had grown up pampered, but he’d learn the way the world worked soon enough.  Dumbledore would ensure it.

“I’ll be telling Father about this,” Draco seethed.  “He won’t stand for it.  He’ll have Dumbledore on report with the Board of Governors…”

I tuned out the angry blond and concentrated on eating my food and preparing myself for what was certain to be a very long summer.  Considering how uncomfortable Christmas had been, I was not looking forward to more than two months with my Light family in their Light manor with their Light friends.  I doubted I’d be very welcome there.


End file.
